#Extended odor protection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jobean12-blog · 1 year

Text

Cowboy for Keeps

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Cowboy AU)

Word Count: 3,555

Summary: You’re a city girl and you’ve just moved into the country only to be saved not once but twice but a real life cowboy, who not only looks the part but is the perfect gentleman and you fall...hard.

Author’s Note: Been thinking more and more about cowboy!Joel. And the new pics/gifs from his upcoming movie are great inspo! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of sweet and soft fluff, some flirty fun, protective Joel because a guy at the bar is a jerk- but it’s all good, Joel to the rescue!

Joel Miller Masterlist

You’re just about to pull the cash from your wallet when you feel a body close to you. Too close.

“Let me get that for ya little lady,” a man slurs, the stench coming off him a mix of booze and body odor.

You wrinkle your nose but paste on a small smile and say, “no thank you, I can pay for my own drink.”

He grabs your hand to stop you from handing the money to the bartender and you wrench it away, eyes wide with shock.

“I said I’d get it for ya,” he repeats. “’Round here we don’t let ladies as pretty as you pay for their drinks.”

“Well,” you start, standing from the bar stool. “Where I come from ladies can pay for their own damn drinks and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

The bar is suddenly quiet before it fills with the gruff mumbles and exclamations from the other patrons, mostly the men.

“Best let me buy ya the drink,” the man grits out, his face red. “Don’t wanna embarrass me now do ya’?”

“Honestly, I don’t care about embarrassing you considering I said NO thank you!”

You hold your chin high and cross your arms over your chest, only rocking back on your heels when the man stands and invades your personal space even more.

He lifts his hand and you start to stumble backward, unsure of his next move and that’s when strong arms wrap around your waist and you’re deftly moved out of the way and a large man stands protectively in between you and the drunk.

Except he’s not just a man. He’s a cowboy.

“You got a problem,” the cowboy growls, focusing his angry attention on the drunk guy, while keeping you safely behind him.

“Just tryin’ to buy the lady a drink Joel. I meant no harm,” the drunk man slurs.

“Well no means no so back the fuck off Stone,” the cowboy seethes, low and dangerous. “You know better than that.”

The man, Stone, turns redder than before and hangs his head, mumbling some kind of apology before shuffling back down the bar and sitting with a plop, his face still scrunched up in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Joel stares at him for a beat before turning around to face you.

“You alright darlin’?” he asks.

You nod, unable to speak as you look him over.

Tall, with long legs clothed in tight jeans and a patterned button down rolled up to his elbows, exposing the corded muscles of his tanned forearms, and warm brown eyes that sparkle when you notice the edges crinkling with his smile.

“Mm hmm,” you answer, letting out an exhale. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do…”

“Nothin’,” Joel finishes. “He ain’t gonna do nothin’ darlin’. Not on my watch.”

He tips the brim of his hat and then holds out his hand.

“Name’s Joel.”

You extend your own and he wraps it in his warm and calloused fingers, the contact sending a jolt of awareness down your spine.

After introducing yourself you reach for your forgotten drink from earlier and take a long sip, noting how the atmosphere of the bar is back to normal again, filled with chatter, clinking glasses, and the sound of billiard balls knocking together.

“You sure you’re ok,” he asks again, seeing the slight tremble in your hand.

“Yeah, just a bit shaken up.”

“Alright then darlin’. You just holler if you need anything.”

With that Joel dips his chin and smiles before heading back to the other end of the bar to finish his game of pool.

You turn away from him but can’t help stealing a side eye peek as he struts off, loving the way his jeans hug his ass.

As much as you try to concentrate on finishing your drink you can’t keep your eyes away from the pool tables and when Joel leans back against the wall, one hand tucked into the back of his jeans and the other clutching the cue stick you realize he’s right out of a cowboy fantasy.

It’s in the width of his shoulders, his dark hair that’s just a little wild and peeking out from under his hat, his unbuttoned shirt that’s tucked neatly into his jeans, all supported by a sleek leather belt. He carries the whole look with ease.

Before he can catch you staring you silently chastise yourself and finish off the last of your beer then hail down the bartender to close your tab and actually pay for your last drink.

“It’s already been paid for,” the bartender explains with a smirk.

Your expression morphs into one of indignation as you open your mouth to argue, once again, that you don’t need any man paying for your drinks.

“It wasn’t Stone!” the bartender quickly says, holding up his hands. “You said no.”

“So then how did it get paid for?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Joel paid,” the bartender says.

The information catches you off guard but for some reason doesn’t bother you at all. You smile at the bartender and throw down a nice tip then turn your attention to where Joel’s standing.

You lock eyes and he grins, giving you a wink and a tip of his hat before he’s called for his next shot.

Reluctant to leave but knowing you should start driving home before it gets dark you gather your bag and see yourself out, but not without taking one last glance behind you, your breath catching in your throat when you see Joel leaning over the pool table, his legs and ass on full display.

“Shit,” you mutter before pushing the door open and stepping out of the bar.

Since you’re still new to the area you’re using your GPS everywhere you go but apparently there’s some new construction work on the main road which causes you to turn off the first street you see. You continue driving and notice the change in scenery almost immediately.

Flat land stretches out to the horizon, now glowing pink and orange with the setting sun, and large farm houses and barns, as well as fences and stables, line the road.

You contemplate pulling over to check your phone but there’s hardly any service out here.

With a sigh of frustration you continue down the quiet road but your car starts to sputter and then jerks forward several times. You panic and quickly maneuver it to the side of the road just as it stops completely.

“What the…?” you gulp.

You press on the gas and check the keys, pressing all the buttons on your dash but nothing happens. That’s when you notice your fuel tank is on E.

“Oh my god,” you cry. “This can’t be happening.”

You rest your head on the steering wheel and fight back the threat of tears through your curses. As you grab your phone and contemplate who the hell to call you hear the sound of hooves on the road and see a small cloud of dust stirring up behind a horse and rider, silhouetted by the setting sun at their backs.

Since you don’t know who it is you lock your doors and wait. The rider rounds your car and stops in front, far enough away so you can see him. He tugs the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes from the sun and leans on the horn of his saddle to look down at you with a smile.

“Joel,” you whisper, unlocking the doors.

He throws one long leg over his horse and holds the reins as he comes to your drivers side door.

You roll down the window.

“Hey there darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply sheepishly.

“What are you doin’ sittin’ here on the side of the road?”

“Well…um…you see…I sorta ranoutofgas.”

“What was that sugar?” he asks, unable to understand your last rush of words.

“I ran out of gas!” you huff, averting your eyes.

“Aw come on now, that’s nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

Despite his words you can see the grin pulling at his lips.

“Don’t you dare laugh!” you chide. “Haven’t you ever run out of gas?”

He ponders your question then looks up at his horse, Whiskey.

“Well, good ‘ole Whiskey here never runs outta gas so….”

You purse your lips to fight your own smile.

“Come on,” he says, opening your car door. “Get your things I’ll give you a lift.”

“But I live pretty far from here,” you tell him.

“That’s fine. My ranch is just a few miles down the road. I have some gas and we’ll bring it back and fill your car up.”

“Wow,” you muse. “Twice in one day.”

“What’s that darlin’?”

“You saved me twice! In one day!”

“Must be my lucky day,” he says with a wink.

You grab your things and secure your car before looking up at Whiskey.

“Ever ride a horse before?” Joel asks.

“Maybe just once or twice, but a long time ago,” you admit.

He places his boot in the stirrup of the saddle and easily mounts the horse.

“Come on’ sugar.”

You take his outstretched hand, his large fingers closing around yours in a firm grip as he helps you on to the back of his horse.

You press yourself against his back to keep from sliding off, thankful he can’t see your face when you feel his hard warmth so close.

“Hold on,” he says before he snaps the reins and Whiskey starts off at a brisk trot.

You squeal and wrap your arms around his waist, clinging to him with fistfuls of his shirt.

When you feel his abs flex with laughter you squeeze him tighter, huffing out expletives.

The ride to his ranch doesn’t take long and by the time you’re turning down the dirt path to his farm house the sun is just dipping under the horizon and the first stars are blinking into existence in the darkening sky.

“Wow,” you whisper looking up as the horse slows.

“Not used to this kind of sky?” Joel asks as he offers you help off Whiskey.

“Not really,” you tell him, still looking up. “The city lights are beautiful but they’re always too bright…”

He nods in understanding, his hand still resting on your waist.

“Can I get you anythin’ darlin’?”

You bring your eyes back to him and smile. “Yeah, I’d love a drink please.”

He pops his elbow out at you and you slip your arm through his as he leads you up the porch steps.

When you get inside he releases you and heads for the fridge.

“Lemonade, iced tea? Water?” he asks.

“Iced tea sounds great, thanks.”

He pours two glasses and guides you back out onto the porch, sitting himself down on the large swing. You sit next to him, close enough that your shoulders brush every so often.

The sky has completely darkened now and the quiet of the night surrounds you. The only sounds you hear are the chirping crickets and the creaking of the porch swing as Joel uses his foot to push you back and forth.

“So do you always ride down the road hoping to catch a damsel in distress?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

He chuckles before taking his hat off and placing it on his knee, his large hand running through his hair and tussling his already wild locks.

“Naw sugar, just enjoy my sunset rides. Nothin’ like that big open sky turning from blue to purple to orange and pink before it all sinks into blackness.”

“I bet,” you sigh, leaning your head back.

You can feel his eyes on your face and you turn his way, a tension, an attraction brewing between you and the anticipation makes you fidget, picking at your jeans.

“Why don’t you come watch the sunset with me tomorrow night?” he asks. “I know the perfect spot right here on the ranch.”

“Really?” you ask, your eyes bright. “That sounds amazing.”

He smiles warmly and stands carefully from the swing, offering his hand. You take it and stand, your arms brushing as you remain close. He places his hat back on his head and adjusts it, your eyes following his every move.

“I’m gonna grab the gas for your car then I’ll drive you back.”

“Ok.”

You watch him walk off to the barn just across from his house before stepping down from the porch and admiring your surroundings.

He returns with a large plastic fuel tank and once again gives you his arm so he can walk you to his truck. He opens your door and helps you in.

On the ride back to your car you fall into easy conversation about your life in the city before your move and he tells you more about the ranch.

Once your gas tank is full you lean against the door of your car, nibbling your bottom lip.

“I don’t know how to properly thank you Joel.”

“No thanks necessary darlin’. It was my pleasure.”

You look at each other for a moment, the moon the only light illuminating the features of your faces and you see his eyes drop to your mouth.

He clears his throat and hangs his head, his hands landing on his hips as he kicks at some unseen rock on the road.

“Well, I guess I’d better be going,” you say, even though you sound a little reluctant.

“But I’ll see you tomorrow,” you finish, the reluctance replaced with clear eagerness.

“Absolutely. Are you sure I can’t pick you up?” he asks.

“Nah. I have to learn my way around! And now that I have gas I should be fine,” you giggle.

He smirks and pulls his cell out of his back pocket.

“Give me your number,” he says. “This way if you have any trouble you can call me.”

You type in your info and hand it back, smiling when your phone buzzes with a text from him.

“Thanks again Cowboy.”

“Anytime darlin’.”

Before you can change your mind you lean forward and place a soft kiss to his cheek, his beard rough under your lips.

He grins and slips his arm behind you to pull open your car door. With that, you turn and get in, waving before you drive off.

Your trip back to Joel’s the next day is much easier with a full tank of gas and proper directions. When you make the last turn that leads out to his ranch you’re almost overwhelmed by the vibrant green of the grass and the cloudless blue of the sky that stretches unendingly in front of you.

The sky is just beginning to change color and you can’t wait to see the full beauty of a sunset over the ranch.

Joel greets you by the gate, helping you out of your car before he leads you toward the barn.

You give him a questioning look and he quickly explains with, “just had some baby pigs born.”

With a barely contained squeal you grab his arm, the excitement rushing out of you in jumbled words.

“Thought you might like to see them,” he adds, before you can even get the question out.

After visiting with the sweet babies and cuddling them as much as their mother would allow, Joel asks for your hand and ushers you away from the barn and farm house. You move deeper onto the ranch land, silent as he leads you to a small clump of bushes and you hear water.

“Where are we?’ you ask.

Joel’s quiet, his voice barely above a whisper.

“This is my favorite spot on the ranch. It’s a natural pond, fed by an underwater spring. It’s rare ‘round here, the runoff from the mountains mostly goes the other way. But this keeps the cattle well-watered and it’s a great place to cool off.”

He’s quiet again as he pulls on your hand a bit, and as you sit down, you discover a blanket already spread on the ground along the shoreline.

“Oh look at you all prepared,” you tease.

“Didn’t want ya to be sittin’ on the grass darlin’. Figured this would be more comfortable.”

You feel him scoot closer to you, your shoulders leaning against one another.

As the day draws to a close on the vast expanse of the ranch, the sun begins its gradual descent toward the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the landscape.

You lift your hand and shield your eyes from the last moments of brightness, only able to peek through you fingertips to see.

Joel shifts and then your face is enveloped in shadow when you feel him press his hat onto your head.

“Does that help?” he asks, looking at you.

“Definitely,” you answer, giving him a quick glance before turning back toward the sunset. “Thank you.”

The sky continues to transform into a masterpiece of colors, blending shades of orange, pink, and purple.

Silhouettes emerge as the light recedes, enhancing the beauty of your surroundings. The rustic wooden fences that enclose the fields take on an ethereal quality, their weathered surfaces aglow with the evening light.

As the sun finally dips below the horizon, the sky gradually transitions into deeper shades of blue and purple. The last remnants of daylight illuminate the landscape with a gentle glow, and the stars begin to appear, twinkling in the darkening sky. The ranch settles into a tranquil stillness, and you let out a contented sigh as you stare at the glimmer of the moon on the water.

“I like this. Being out here. On the surface it’s dark and quiet, but if you use all your senses, there’s so much more.”

“Tell me what you sense?” he asks as he shifts even closer.

“It’s quiet but not really. I can hear the cattle and other animals and every once in a while I see a flash of a firefly.”

You nudge his shoulder and point over the water, giggling when you see some dancing lights.

“I can even smell the grass and something else…rugged and adventurous, like earth, leather, and pine…”

You close your eyes and hear Joel swallow.

“And what about your sense of touch?” he murmurs. “What do you feel?”

Before you can answer, you feel his fingertips tracing up your arm to find the curve of your jaw and cradle it in his hand. He turns your head toward his and brushes his hat from your head.

His eyes fall to your mouth, his own just a breath away as he traces his nose across your skin. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel the pressure of his lips, gentle and delicate, before your entire body tingles with electricity and warmth.

You press yourself closer and when he feels your agreement he deepens the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist and threading his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans to pull you into his lap.

“My touch is telling me a lot of things,” you whisper against his lips before he moves to trail kisses down your neck. “All of them good. So fucking good.”

He reaches for the hem of your shirt, slipping his fingers beneath. You can feel the coarse, rough calluses on his fingertips and palms as he explores your skin, humming in appreciation.

“You’re soft as silk darlin’.”

You moan his name, gripping his shoulders as he pulls you tight against him to meet your mouth in another heated kiss.

He smiles against your lips, stroking your back with work roughened but still gentle hands.

“What did you think of that sunset?” he asks.

“Most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.”

He keeps you in his arms and lays down, tugging you into his chest so your head rests along his shoulder.

“Show ain’t over yet darlin’. Look.”

He points a finger toward the sky and you move your eyes up, darkness stretching far and wide above you, broken up by the glitter of thousands of stars.

“Wow,” is all you manage.

He smooths his hands over your waist and you idly run your fingers over his chest, enjoying the interplay of his muscles underneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

The feeling of him is overwhelming and the heat in your body builds even as you press your thigh along his and soak in more of his warmth. You turn slightly and place your hand on his belt buckle, dipping your finger under the metal and tugging him until he’s facing you.

He props himself up on his elbow, his long legs stretched out and tangled with yours. His eyes are intense as they wander over your face and you can’t help but tempt hm as you bite your lower lip.

He leans down, meeting your lips in a kiss while his free hand finds your silky skin, caressing every inch he can reach.

Your fingers find his hair, weaving through the softness before giving it a tug so you can deepen the kiss. The sparkle of the stars is dimmed in comparison to what he does to you. In every touch of skin, every kiss, even in the way he looks at you, he makes you want more. He makes you want everything.

@sstan-hoe @pedritosdarling @blackwidownat2814 @lorilane33 @justkinsey @laineyreads @beccablogsthings

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #cowboy!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #cowboy!joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #cowboy au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

1K notes · View notes

shiorimakibawrites · 5 months

Text

Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @beezusvreeland , @indestructeible , @what-i-call-men , @reblog-reblog666 , @flynnethenerd , @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment , @yarrystyleeza , @bellaxgiornata Also posted on AO3

June 8: Attempting to fix the tags along with tagging those I missed after temporarily misplacing my tag list.

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appalled by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

#fan fiction #fan fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #part 1 of 2 #cat man do #a03 link

113 notes · View notes

alabonshay · 20 days

Text

Lady Evergreen Alabonsé IX

Aliases: Lady Evergreen, Evergreen (the) Young(er), Vee

Dendie half-matriarch, nonbinary female (she/her), young adult (20s)

Appearance:

Ape-like; average height but larger than human proportions; broad, compact, muscular beneath a portly figure.

Light blue-green skin. Dark green fur, soft with an emerald shine, covering the entire body except for her face, and soles of her hands/ feet. Mane is styled smooth and sleek, although naturally curly. Sideburns combed carefully, with two faded yellow fur patches that glitter in the light.

Short, heavy neck with a lump for her venom organ; round face and chin. Two, small, human-like ears hidden beneath her mane.

Bright green eyes with dark irises. Small and upturned nose. Wide mouth with sharp fangs, and two large, polished tusks protruding from a severe underbite. A few lower teeth are always visible and she cannot fully close her jaw.

Scent:

Floral perfume, camphor, aftershave, woodsmoke; natural/close-proximity only: the oils of a fur pelt, hint of ‘disinfectant’ from her toxins, and a whiff of body odor.

Voice: Speaks in Received Pronunciation, with a noticeable lisp because of her tusks. Her voice is an expressive light baritone, prone to being louder than average. When excited, her tone becomes slightly nasally.

Also makes ambient snuffles and snorts (i.e. in agreement, in thought), since her nose is short and stuffy.

Favorite Things:

Outdoor pursuits (hiking, travel, sports), autumn weather, the color yellow, social gatherings, chewing bones, delicious food and wines, song and theater, fish (as pets), warm baths, floral perfumes, tactile things (either soft or clicking).

Least Favorite Things:

Heights, brightness, summer heat, feeling trapped, being ignored, being bored, bland meals, uncomfortable clothing, being touched without initiating first, talking about her other family (not Alabonsés).

Personality and Manner:

Lady Evergreen is often energetic and cordial in public, a natural entertainer for her family’s guests. She moves at a fast pace and can usually attend to multiple happenings at once.

In the past, she has proven a selfish and shallow person. Though a beacon of popularity, Evergreen IX has many acquaintances and few friends. After her fiancee left her, she began to reflect upon and remedy her overbearing behavior. She may be condescending or naive at times, but less self-centered than before.

As a sheltered aristocrat, Evergreen IX is hesitant towards the unusual. She is polite but distrusting of most people. She has held a secret desire for hidden magic and a fantastic escape since childhood, but remains a skeptic to avoid disappointment. Proven that this does exist, however, she would be curious about alien people and places. As soon as she has gotten over the shock, she may as well introduce herself.

Other Info:

Illegitimate daughter of the Duchess Alabonsé and another Duchess.

Fell into the Lake Sanctimonious at the age of 10, which caused her partial metamorphosis. She shares some traits with matriarchs but she has few quills. Her venom is also weak and almost never produced.

Low vision. Cannot describe detail outside of contrast/blocks of color, unless extremely close up. Can move without assistance on her own estate grounds. Carries an extendable cane she can use to navigate crowded, or unfamiliar, places.

Light sensitive, wears various shades of dark blue glasses to protect her eyes from brightness.

#// revising the bio for some rp relevant details about her #|| ooc ||#|| about ||#|| lady evergreen ||

4 notes · View notes

mattress-to-door · 8 days

Text

A Complete Guide on What is a Mattress Protector?

Introduction

A comfortable mattress that provides restful sleep is one of the best investments you can make for your health and well-being. With the average mattress lifespan being 8 to 10 years, you’ll want to take good care of your mattress so it lasts. An important part of mattress care and maintenance is using a mattress protector. But what exactly is a mattress protector and why does your mattress need one? Let’s take a look.

A mattress protector is a removable layer of bedding that completely encases your mattress like a fitted sheet. It creates a barrier between you and the mattress to protect the sleep surface from a range of contaminants. Mattress protectors keep your mattress clean, hygienic, and damage-free for a healthier sleep environment.

There are many types of mattress protectors available to suit different needs. Key types include waterproof, cooling, hypoallergenic, and organic mattress protectors. Premium mattress protectors are designed using innovative fabrics and technologies for optimal protection, comfort, and convenience. Let’s explore the details of what a mattress protector is.

What is a Mattress Protector?

Mattress Protector Definition

A mattress protector is a removable cover that fully encases a mattress similar to a fitted sheet. It protects the mattress from spills, stains, dust mites, allergens, bed bugs, and damage. Mattress protectors create a barrier between you and the mattress to promote cleanliness, hygiene, and longevity.

Key Features

Fully encases mattress like a fitted sheet

Waterproof and stain-resistant

Creates protective barrier around mattress

Designed to be removable and washable

Available in sizes to fit every mattress — twin, full, queen, king

Made from durable fabrics like cotton, polyester, bamboo

Advanced protectors have cooling, hypoallergenic, antimicrobial properties

Type

Key Function

Waterproof

Protects against spills, fluids, incontinence

Cooling

Regulates temperature for cool sleep

Hypoallergenic

Prevents dust mites, mold, pollen

Organic

Eco-friendly materials like bamboo, cotton

Encasement

Fully wraps mattress to protect from bed bugs

Mattress pad

Adds soft quilted layer for comfort

How Mattress Protectors Work

Mattress protectors work by fully surrounding your mattress in a durable, protective barrier material. Many feature an inner waterproof membrane made of materials like vinyl or polyurethane to block moisture and spills. This waterproof backing may have a terry cotton or polyester top layer for comfort.

The snug fitted sheet style ensures the protector stays securely in place on the mattress. It protects all six sides — top, bottom and sides. Some protectors have zippered encasement to fully seal the mattress.

Advanced mattress protectors use innovative fabrics like breathable Tencel® to wick moisture and regulate temperature. Some are treated with SILPURE antimicrobial technology to inhibit bacteria and odor.

Mattress Protector vs. Mattress Cover

A mattress cover loosely covers the top of a mattress to protect it from dust and debris. A mattress protector fully encases the mattress and has protective barriers against spills, allergens, bed bugs, etc.

Mattress protectors are designed to be removable for washing, while mattress covers aren’t intended for removal. So mattress protectors play a bigger role in mattress hygiene and care.

Benefits of Using a Mattress Protector

Protects mattress from spills, stains, fluids, incontinence

Creates allergen barrier against dust mites, pollen, pet dander

Prevents bed bug and pest infestations

Keeps mattress free of dead skin cells, body oils, sweat

Allows easy mattress cleaning and maintenance

Extends mattress lifespan by preventing premature damage

May support mattress warranty claims

Promotes better sleep hygiene and health

So in summary, a mattress protector is a removable, encasing layer designed to protect your mattress. It promotes cleanliness, hygiene and longevity for a more comfortable, refreshing sleep environment. Investing in a high-quality mattress protector helps safeguard your mattress against damage and allergens.

At Mattress To Door, we offer a range of mattress protectors to keep your mattress clean and damage-free. Check out our selection of premium mattress protectors including waterproof and breathable protectors to find the right match for your mattress.

Why You Need a Mattress Protector

Now that you know what a mattress protector is, let’s look at why it’s so important to use one. There are many compelling reasons to invest in a high-quality mattress protector for your bed.

Protect Against Spills and Stains

Life happens — spills and accidents are inevitable. Food, drinks, oils, lotions, makeup, urine, perspiration, etc. can quickly stain or damage a mattress if spilled directly on it. A waterproof mattress protector creates a barrier that keeps liquids from seeping into the mattress itself.

Mattress protectors safeguard your investment against pesky stains that are difficult to remove. It’s much easier to wash removable mattress protectors as needed instead of trying to clean the entire mattress.

Allergen Protection

Dust mites, mold spores, pollen and pet dander are common allergens that can collect in your mattress. Protectors that are hypoallergenic and antimicrobial block allergens and prevent bacteria buildup. This helps reduce allergy symptoms for a better night’s sleep.

Mattress protectors also trap dead skin cells, body oils and sweat that would otherwise sink into the mattress. This improves mattress hygiene.

Extend Mattress Longevity

Mattress protectors prevent premature mattress breakdown and damage in several ways:

Protects against stains from spills, incontinence, etc.

Reduces indentation from body pressure points

Avoids dust mite and pest damage

Reduces exposure to sweat, oils and grime

By keeping your mattress clean and well-maintained, a protector can extend the mattress lifespan by years. This improves your return on investment.

Easy Cleaning and Maintenance

Mattress protectors allow you to easily clean and care for your mattress:

Wipe spills right off the surface

Remove and machine wash the protector

Use sanitizing sprays or steam clean without worry

Vacuum the mattress through the protector

Regular washing also removes dead skin cells, bacteria and microbes that accumulate. This improves mattress hygiene and air quality.

Warranty Support

Most mattress warranties require using a suitable mattress protector to validate claims. Protectors shield against stains, damage and indentations that could void the warranty.

Be sure to check your mattress warranty documentation for any mattress protector requirements. Using one provides an extra layer of warranty protection.

Improved Sleep Health

Mattress protectors promote a clean, hygienic sleep environment free of allergens, skin cells, pests, and microbes. This allows you to breathe easier and sleep better on a kept mattress. A high-quality mattress protector supports healthy, restorative sleep.

Types of Mattress Protectors

There are different types of mattress protectors designed for various needs. Let’s look at the most common varieties and their key benefits:

Type

Key Features

Benefits

Waterproof

Waterproof membrane of vinyl, polyurethane, etc.

Protects against fluids, spills, incontinence

Cooling

Advanced fabrics like Outlast® to regulate temperature

Keeps sleepers cool; great for hot sleepers

Hypoallergenic

Allergen barrier against dust mites, mold, pollen

Reduces allergies; ideal for sensitive sleepers

Organic

Made from organic cotton, bamboo, wool

Eco-friendly; reduces chemicals

Encasement

Fully zips around mattress

Protects from bed bugs; great for allergies

Mattress Pads

Quilted layer attached to protector

Extra comfort and softness

Let’s look closely at the most popular types:

Waterproof Mattress Protectors

Waterproof mattress protectors are a must to protect your mattress investment. They feature an inner waterproof membrane that blocks spills, fluids, incontinence, etc. from penetrating the mattress:

Made of vinyl, polyurethane or other waterproof materials

May have terry cotton or other fabric top layer

Completely blocks moisture and liquids

Just wipe surface clean; protector is washable

Great for kids, elderly, pets, incontinence, and anyone prone to spills. Popular options like our Health Comfort Waterproof Terry Protector offer full-proof protection.

For more details visit us at Mattress To Door: A Complete Guide on What is a Mattress Protector?

#mattress #ecommerce #mattress online #mattress sale #affordable mattress #canada #mattress store near me #furniture store #mattress store canada #mississauga

3 notes · View notes

unabashegirl · 1 year

Text

Different (10) PREVIEW

Summary: Harry is just like any other college student. He is a senior in Chicago University. He keeps to himself except when he is spending time with his closest friends, Sarah and Mitch. His world revolves around his future career, friends, and family. His quiet and routine driven life takes a turn, one weekend when he meets Y/N Y/L/N. She is way too different from him. She spends most of her days surrounded by people who care for superficial and materialistic things. Her parents are never home, and they think that with money everything can be solved. They are both from different worlds yet something that night clicks and Y/N can never again get him off her mind.

Authors note: here is a new chapter of different. This chapter has already been posted on my Patreon. very smutty.

DISCLAIMER: the following chapter and series is only completed and available on Patreon.

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

Forty-five minutes into the movie the couple change positions. Majorly caused by the pain that Y/N had begun experiencing in her coccyx ****since her whole weight was distributed on it. Y/N sat up, careful not to make any sound that would disturb the rest of the people. She pulled away from him and laid on her side beside him, giving her back to him.

Harry followed and lay on his side too. He threw his arm over her waist and pulled her body close to his. His chest is pressed against her back and their legs are angled together as they continued watching the movie silently.

Y/N couldn’t concentrate on the movie. She could feel his hard chest expanding and condensing against her back. Harry’s fingers had found a small piece of bare skin beside her belly button. Skin that he kept caressing and kept leaving a burning trail. His touch was soft yet penetrable and her hands ached with the desire of touching him. She swallowed every bit of it back and turned her full attention back into the movie.

The two hours left movie blew past them before the couple even realized that the movie had ended. People clap and cheer loudly as the credit roll in. It was dark and chilly, but cold enough for them to make them get up quickly and leave like the others. Y/N pressed her body closer to him and snuggled into his chest.

“Chilly?” He whispered, “Turn around,” Harry said softly, as he reached over her and took another blanket that he had noticed that she had brought. “Here,” he said extending the blanket over her body.

It is dead silent for a few minutes, only their breaths can be heard.

“Do you miss England?” She asked him. Her questions bring him back to reality. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked” She apologized and pulled away a bit from him.

“Where are you going?” He frowned, pulling her back into his chest. “I- I do. Haven’t been back in a long time” He shrugged, as he drew patterns on the skin of her arm.

“Have you ever felt lonely in a room full of people?” He exhaled loudly, as his brain scrambled for a response. He wasn’t sure if he needed to be honest with her or lie. The last thing he wanted to do was scared her off, but he also wanted to be truthful with her.

“Always” Harry gulped. Y/N grip on him got tighter as if she was trying to protect him.

“Me too” she whispered, “I’ve never been to England.” She shared, breaking the tension and sadness that had arisen from the conversation.

“Absurd. We will need to change that” He chuckled after hearing her giggle. Y/N nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck. Hypnotized by the strong odor of his cologne, aftershave, and fabric softener...

Click below and join our community to continue reading Different or Enticing. Check our different tiers one for $3.00 USD or get access to both series for $5.00 USD.

24 notes · View notes

dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd · 1 year

Text

The Box Lady of Benton

It was October 8th, 1976 and Norman Skoog had spent the day harvesting his “back 40,” acres of corn along Benton County Road 200 South. Around 5pm, while harvesting in a remote spot about a mile-and-a-half from the Skoog home, he made a bizarre discovery. A white cardboard box wrapped in tape and rope sat on the ground roughly nine rows deep in the field, approximately 15 yards off of the gravel road. Norman had nearly ran over the box with his combine. When he got out to investigate the box, he realized it was far too heavy for him to lift alone. He left on his combine to get his father-in-law and his pickup. Together, they loaded the box into the bed of the truck and drove it to the Skoog home.

Curtis Skoog, 16, was first to notice the pungent odor of cheap perfume coming from within the box. Using a pocket knife, he sliced open a section of the box to find a broken vial of perfume lying atop something wrapped in layers of plastic. Concerned what may be inside, Norman phoned police. He told Curtis to return the vial to the box and wait for the Sheriff to arrive.

Sheriff Donal Steely arrived at the Skoog home a short time later to inspect the suspicious package. As he began to cut into the thick sheets of heavy plastic and rope, a new foul smell wafted out of the box. Steely decided he should contact the State Police before proceeding any further. Indiana State Police arrived and opened the box. Beneath the layers of plastic sheeting and rope, they discovered the body of a woman. The body was taken to the local coroners office, and later an autopsy was preformed in Lafayette, Indiana.

It was concluded that the woman’s cause of death was from a small calibre single gunshot wound at the base of her neck fired at close range. The bullet was never recovered. Her death was estimated to have occurred 7-10 days before being found, but it was noted that very little decomposition had occurred.

She was found in the fetal position with her knees pressed firmly against her chest. Her body was bound with rope and her hands were tied under her knees. Her head and face were wrapped in white paper towelling, and two small plastic bags had been tied over her head. Her body had been wrapped in several layers of thick plastic, similar to those used as runners to protect carpet. White clothesline style rope and heavy duty duct tape had been used to tie the plastic around the body and was so tightly bound, it had distorted and bruised the woman’s face.

The woman was white, approximately 5 feet 2 inches tall, weighed around 175 pounds, and was estimated to be around 60 years of age. The woman wore a green 2-piece pants suit that was covered in blood, but otherwise clean. She wore no makeup, shoes, pantyhose, or jewelry and had no identification. She had a few distinguishing facial features, including a large “bump” on the bridge of her nose and “abnormally large ears.”

It was evident the woman had undergone several surgeries. She had undergone a radical mastectomy, and bore a vertical surgical scar on her mid-section which extended from her sternum to her stomach. She had also undergone extensive dental work, though she was in need of more.

Her makeshift “coffin” was a white cardboard box measuring 3-by-2-by-1-foot. The box was a typical moving box, stamped with a factory label reading “wardrobe.” Another part of the box bore a handwritten notation reading “hall closet.” It was learned that the box had been manufactured in Illinois. Inside of the box, the small vial of perfume was found, however it had no label. The box itself had been sealed with tape and the same rope that was used to bind the woman. Investigators believe the box had been left at the location the same day it was found. Heavy rains had blanketed the area the previous day into the early morning hours and the box showed no signs of moisture damage.

Police attempted to use fingerprints to identify the unknown woman, however they never found a match. This led them to the conclusion she had never been arrested, or held a civil service job. A sketch of the woman was released to the public in the hopes of identifying her, however no one came forward to claim her body. Eventually, she was buried in an unmarked grave in Fowler Cemetery.

The investigation continued and several people came forward from states as far away as Alabama believing the unknown woman may be their missing loved one. Unfortunately she was not a match to any of them.

Multiple theories existed, from everything to a “mob-hit,” to a wrong place wrong time scenario. However the most bizarre, and seemingly most accepted theory, is that the box was dropped from a helicopter.

While the area the box was found is extremely rural, it is also a tight knit community of farmers who are outside from sun up to sun down. According to them, they would have noticed someone driving along the gravel road that morning, and while they didn’t spot any suspicious cars, they did see a helicopter fly over the field early that morning. According to three separate witness statements, the helicopter approached from the northeast, swung to the southwest, and hovered near the ground for a few seconds where the box was found.

A second piece of evidence supporting the helicopter theory is that when police searched the area where the box was found, they discovered an irregular circle of exposed black dirt around the dumping site. During harvest, corn stalks litter the ground covering the soil. The powerful updraft created by a helicopter could cause the stalks to scatter leaving the ground exposed and leaving a circular “imprint” like the one discovered at the scene.

#unsolved #unsolved mysteries #crime #cold cases #creepy

11 notes · View notes

comatosebunny09 · 2 years

Text

untitled.

Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Mild Violence, Language, Word Vomit, Angst

Music Inspo: Face My Fears - Utada Hikaru

Started off as a potential love confession and a prelude to this. Went in the opposite direction. Sorry not sorry. Thank you for reading!

Blood.

So much of it speckles the pure, powdery snow beneath your feet. Intermingling with your own, viscous crimson coasting down your arm. You grip your katana with bone-white knuckles, afraid it might slip from your grasp. Grit your teeth with your eyes screwed shut, tensing as she rains another slew of attacks on your face.

“You little bitch!” the old woman spits, her cry so shrill, the birds overhead scatter. She’s a stark contrast to the gentle person she was hours prior. Bore kind eyes with a genuine smile. Giving hands that offered you solace and a place to lay your head. Those very hands are now balled into fists, thumping against your chest. Shoving, scratching, slapping. “We trusted you, and you betrayed us!” The malice of her voice sends your heart plummeting to your feet.

Your cheek stings in the wake of another slap, throbbing an angry scarlet. You could easily overpower her. She’s nearly thrice your age, half your height. Old, feeble, weak. You were merely protecting her. Upholding your duty. You had to; you were trained to.

You peer over her shoulder, her tear-stricken face fading in and out of focus. A Gaussian blur of emotions. You watch as a purl of inky smoke builds behind her. Hisses and pops, stretching toward the sky with its pungent odor. Releases a sigh of a life petering out. A demon. Her husband. Or what once was. It tried to kill her; wanted to eat her. You were merely…

You were…

You—

“Get out of here!” she shrieks, slicing through the fog of your conscience. You flinch. The blood in your veins crystallizes to ice as she bunches your haori in her hands and pushes. You don’t budge. Rooted to this spot, sight filmy with the threat of your own tears. “Leave this place, you coward!” She’s crying. You’re crying. You did this.

You did—

The snow crunches. The old woman’s on her knees now. Her shoulders tremble, choked sobs leaving her throat. “How could you?” she weeps, clawing at the ice. “How could…” A pained, bloodcurdling scream follows, the sound like that of a wounded animal awaiting its slaughter. Her wail holds your heart in an agonizing vice, your gut fastening itself in knots.

You’re not really thinking. Body moves of its own volition. Running. Phasing in and out of sight, your feet and skill carry you through the forest. Farther and farther away from that once warm cabin. The arctic wind kissing your tear-stained cheeks. You don’t have a destination in mind; just let your instincts take you. Heart guiding you, lungs aflame.

When familiar blue rooftops mar your vision, you finally come to your senses. Skid to a stop at the entrance, the snow a billowing mist around. He is there in the clearing, seated on his engawa. Of course he is. Sunshine amid the rain. A golden wildflower growing through the cracks of asphalt. A campfire kindled on the coldest day. You can’t breathe. No matter how hard you try, how much air you greedily suck in, you just can’t—

A call of your name. Worried brows, concern etched in his features. Kyojuro drops his book, cautiously taking steps toward you before breaking into a sprint. Extends a hand, your name at the curl of his tongue again. He moves closer. Uncomfortably close. Overwhelming so. You can’t remember how to breathe. He’s so warm, and his earthy scent is crowding your senses.

He’s holding you. Shaking you, strong hands burning through your haori. You’re hysterical. Can’t recall how to talk. Your voice is lodged in your throat, your eyes darting about with paranoia coloring your veins. He’s calling your name, his voice sounding from all angles.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, gently forcing you back, optics scanning over you with alarm. You hate yourself for how pained he sounds. Don't deserve such kindness. “Are you alright?” And then the calluses of his battle-worn hands tenderly press into your enflamed cheeks, bending your head back. Amber eyes melding to flames in your bleary vision. You don’t know when you’ve started crying again. Just feel a wail rolling from your throat like a tumultuous wave. Feel your body quake with unbridled emotion. “What’s wrong?” he demands, bending until you’re at eye level, his tone as anguished as your heart.

You don’t know. You really—

He draws you into his embrace as if it’s second nature. Holds you firmly to him, his heart thundering beneath your cheek. Fingers, soothing and compassionate, combing through your unkempt hair. Gentle coos and shushes vibrate your ears, and he kneads the space between your shoulder blades as you tremble with a new rush of despair.

Your hands are so small, balled up in his hakama. You feel pitiful. Wailing, blubbering, sniveling. He's shushing you. Chanting "I've got you" into your tresses like a mantra. Holding you to him, refusing to let you crumble. Somewhere between the sympathy in his tenure, the heat of his form, and the adrenaline draining from your limbs, your vision's fading. Transitioning to black. Your name yelled in the distance, your body slackening. The sensation of you being lifted into powerful arms until...

Nothing.

#rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #my works #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kny reader insert #rengoku angst #kyojuro angst #tw: blood #tw: angst #tw: language #tw: violence

49 notes · View notes

johncopywriting · 1 year

Text

Helpful Life Hacks: LAUNDRY HACKS

Laundry is an essential part of our daily lives, and keeping our clothes clean and fresh is essential for good personal hygiene. However, doing laundry can be time-consuming and expensive, especially if you don't know how to do it efficiently. Here are some laundry hacks that can help you save time and money while keeping your clothes clean and fresh.

Sort Your Laundry by Color and Fabric

Sorting your laundry before washing can help you to prevent color bleeding and damage to your clothes. Sort your laundry by color and fabric type, and use the appropriate washing cycle and temperature for each load. For example, wash whites and light colors separately from darks and jeans to prevent color fading.

Use Vinegar as a Fabric Softener

Vinegar is a natural and cost-effective fabric softener that can help to remove odors and bacteria from your clothes. Add a cup of white vinegar to your wash cycle instead of fabric softener, and your clothes will come out soft and fresh. Vinegar can also help to remove stains and brighten your clothes.

Use Baking Soda to Deodorize Your Clothes

Baking soda is another natural and cost-effective laundry hack that can help to remove odors from your clothes. Add a half cup of baking soda to your wash cycle along with your regular detergent, and your clothes will come out smelling fresh and clean.

Wash Your Clothes in Cold Water

Washing your clothes in cold water can help you save money on your electricity bill and prevent damage to your clothes. Cold water is gentler on your clothes, and it can help to prevent shrinkage and color fading. Use a cold water cycle for your regular laundry, and reserve hot water for heavily soiled items and white clothes.

Use a Mesh Laundry Bag for Delicate Items

Delicate items like bras, hosiery, and lingerie need extra care during washing. Using a mesh laundry bag can help to protect your delicate items from damage during the wash cycle. Simply put your delicate items into the mesh bag and wash them with your regular laundry.

Clean Your Washing Machine Regularly

Cleaning your washing machine regularly is essential to prevent the buildup of bacteria and mildew. Run a hot water cycle with vinegar or baking soda once a month to remove any buildup and odors from your machine. You can also clean the lint filter and the exterior of your machine to prevent dust and dirt buildup.

Dry Your Clothes Properly

Drying your clothes properly can help to prevent wrinkles, shrinkage, and damage to your clothes. Use the appropriate drying cycle for each load and avoid over drying your clothes. Hang your clothes outside to dry if possible, as sunlight can help to remove odors and bacteria.

Doing laundry doesn't have to be a chore. By following these laundry hacks, you can save time and money while keeping your clothes clean and fresh. Remember, good laundry habits can also help to extend the life of your clothes and prevent damage and color fading.

#blog writing #writing #blogger #blog all the time #blogging #blog #bloggingcommunity #hobby blog #laundry #laundry day #life tips #helpful #useful #useful stuff #good to know #cleaning tips #washingday #washing machine #laundry room

18 notes · View notes

rotworld · 2 years

Text

30: Eternal Night

you grew up hearing that the relationship between a knight and their page should be harmonious, a bond of perfect understanding and mutual devotion. sometimes you feel as though you fall short of the ideal. unbeknownst to you, so does your knight.

->suggestive but not explicit. contains gore, blood drinking, implied self-inflicted bloodletting.

Miwen wakes you at dawn, or when dawn should be. At home, within the safety of the Scarlet Demesne, daybreak is made with sunrise candles. Luminescent wax fills the halls with gemstone light, deep sapphire to brilliant topaz. Out here, there is nothing. The sky is a starless abyss. The Moon shares what light She can but the dark churns all around Her, a black tide lapping hungrily at Her silver edges. “Morning,” Miwen says, “such as it is.”

Your camp is small and nestled in a quiet glade, stone ruins and old fence posts rotting in the earth. This was a town once. On this very spot stood an inn, maybe a house or farmstead, a place people lived. You keep finding things, half-buried in the dirt or caught in the gnarled arms of trees. Wagon wheels. Forgotten shoes. A sunhat with blood along the brim. A doll missing one button eye. The Unnova lingers here. It’s still in the soil, still thick in the air. When the wind is just right, you can hear sounds echo all the way from the past—weeping. Screaming.

The fire is indigo. Not as warm, but not as bright, either. Safer that way. Nor is already awake and cooking something, a thick broth bubbling in a pot over the flames. The steam wafts towards you with a pungent, tangy odor. “They’re not back yet?” you ask.

“Appreciate the peace and quiet while it lasts,” Nor says wryly, sitting cross-legged by the fire. He’s unusually tall for a page. His cloak drapes over his shoulders and pools in his lap, unable to cover his long legs. You can see his bony knees, his sandals, the bandages on his ankles and higher, disappearing beneath the red curtain of his cloak. He’s been filling his knight’s canteen. You see the waterskin propped up in his lap and a small, metal scarificator beside it with the crescent seal of the Order of the Lunar Tide embossed on the side, blades still extended. The fresh bandage he wraps around his hand turns watery red above his palm.

“So…what do we do?” you ask. “Just keep waiting?”

“Not for too much longer,” Miwen says. She passes you for the fire, carrying a satchel full of alchemy supplies, clinking vials and dried, crunched up herbs. She curls up against Nor’s side, squirming until she’s comfortable, and starts assembling something medicinal. “It’s almost nine in the morning,” she announces.

“How do you know that?”

“My knight taught me time-keeping,” she says, a hint of pride in her voice. “Ask yours, they love to show off. Anyway, they like to be back by ten when a hunt takes all night, but they’ll be here earlier than that. They’re extra punctual when we’re along.”

You’re restless, but you don’t want to stray far from the dim flicker of the campfire. The dark is terrible. It’s never this deep in the city, never so unbroken. Out here in these forsaken places, lands lost so quickly that the people did not even have the chance to run, this long night never ends. The Moon, try as She might to protect you, can only reach so far. There are shadows here far larger than they should be. There are lightless places deep in these woods, crawling with seething miasma that taints everything it touches.

“Stars and Moon above, stop your fidgeting! You’re making me nervous,” Nor says. He sounds exasperated but there’s a twinge of sympathy in his voice. Every page was new once. Everyone has had to learn that the dark is different beyond the safety of the city walls. “Come here and eat. You need this more than we do.”

Miwen scoots over so you’re nestled between them and they press into your sides, engulfing you in the warmth and softness of their cloaks and shared body heat. It’s better here, closer to the fire. The light is weak but it’s there, throwing its soft glow against your hands. Miwen hums as she tugs your hand gently from beneath your cloak.Your wrists and arms are littered in bite marks, throbbing and still-healing scabs across the indentations of beastial teeth. She begins bandaging the marks with practiced precision, not too loose or too tight, the wraps smelling faintly of herbal medicines.

“Is it normal?” you ask. “For them to feed so often?”

“It is for yours,” Nor says. He pours you a bowl of dark purple broth, a watered-down version of the stews they make at the Demesne to enable a page’s body to produce more blood. “In fact, I’d say he’s been underfeeding. Has he said anything about it?”

“He doesn’t talk to me much,” you say. The broth is savory with a slight metallic tang. You drain your bowl and Nor refills it too quickly for you to refuse.

“Can’t be your blood,” Miwen says absently. “You’re as red as it gets.” She’s moved on to your legs, urging you to turn and stretch out across her lap. You’re a bit embarrassed when she pushes your cloak back to examine your thighs. Those bites are larger, indicating a longer, deeper feeding. “He’s probably scared of you.”

“Scared of me?”

“Scared he’ll get attached,” Nor corrects. “You’re not his first page.”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’m not?”

Nor and Miwen glance at one another, something deeply uncomfortable flickering across their faces. “It’s not a question of ability,” Miwen says, and you can tell she’s choosing her words carefully, trying to be diplomatic. She pulls your cloak back down without bandaging the bites on your thighs. “You have one of the most capable knights in Rizhiyo. He didn’t lose them to anything in the wilds, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“He drove them away,” Nor says. Miwen looks at him sharply. “Not everyone agrees,” he admits, “but I don’t know how else to explain what happened. They just vanished. Snuck out of the Demesne and went into the forest alone. The only thing that ever turned up was their cloak.”

The thought turns your stomach. You can barely stand being here with a full hunting party. You can’t imagine being here all alone.The mood sours and the three of you fall into a tense silence, staring into the fire. Something in the dark makes a crooning sound and Miwen huddles in a little closer. You wonder if it’s true. If your knight was truly so horrible that he drove his old page to abandon him, their duties, even the safety of the Rizhiyo just to escape. Is his distance caused by guilt? Is that why he tosses and turns so much at night, and you always wake up crushed against his chest?

A twig snaps. There’s miasma, sticky and hot like a coming storm, thick in the air. You bristle, sitting upright. Miwen is tense and Nor is already on his feet, putting out the fire with a flick of his wrist and a rush of magic. The dark shifts and an abomination comes slinking out of the shadows, lurching on mismatched legs. It’s a twined beast, pieces of human, animal, and starmatter twisted together in unnatural shapes, an arm dragging, another split at the elbow and branching into tendrils. It sloughs forward with a gurgle and a pained shriek, its body lit by dizzying Unnova colors, alien and hostile hues that make the trees recoil.

It sees you, huddled in the dark together. It smells your blood and it drags its warped body closer.

“How long can you hold a barrier?” Nor asks, his voice quiet and perfectly even despite the set of his jaw.

It takes you a moment to remember to speak, reluctant to take your eyes off of the thing. Its head is a mass of earth, snaking roots, and throbbing flesh. There are eyes in the hollows and spaces, human and otherwise. They bulge against the rigid, sinewy cage, darting quickly between you, Miwen and Nor as it sizes up its prey. “Four minutes,” you say. “Five, maybe, but then I won’t have much left.”

“They’ll be back,” Miwen whispers. “I know they will.” She reaches beneath her cloak for the dagger strapped to her thigh.

The abomination howls with a chorus of agonized voices and breaks into a horrifying sprint, half-slithering, half lunging, its maw open, its dozens of hands all reaching.

It never reaches you. There’s light—and your breath hitches in your throat at the beauty of it, blue and sparkling and bright, the azure of familiar magic. Like a shooting star, it cuts across the dark of the night sky and hurtles to earth. There’s a powerful gust of wind that nearly knocks you off your feet, a flash of silver, and you see your knight descend with the swiftness of an avenging angel, plunging a spear through the back of the beast. The others are with him and they move in unison, a single predator with three bodies.

They’re faceless, shrouded by their helms and the thick shadows of the night, but even like this, even dressed in identical armor, slate gray and lunar silver, you know Vashir. You recognize him through a shroud of shimmering magic and clinging miasma, the way the Moon glints on his lance as he tears it loose from the shuddering body of the abomination with a burst of sickly, Unnova-colored blood. You can tell him apart in the thick of battle by his movements. He isn’t as graceful as Nor’s knight nor as reckless as Miwen’s, but he is swift and ferocious, as at home in this forest as any creature of the wilds.

Miwen’s knight heaves the twin-crescent blade of her polearm over her head and brings it down with a sickening crunch, beheading the abomination in one swift movement. The body continues to squirm and fight, claws flailing, far longer than any natural creature. Nor’s knight slits the beast open like a butchered carcass and only when its steaming entrails puddle on the ground does it finally collapse and die. The knights change when the fog of battle lifts, their stances changing, no longer hunched and predatory.

The bickering begins immediately.

“I told you one escaped!” Miwen’s knight growls. “I told you there were twelve to begin with, and we only killed eleven—”

“Are you quite done?” Nor’s knight says, wiping the blood from his daggers. “It is dead now. That is all that matters.”

“It almost reached camp because you two were dragging your feet!” Miwen’s knight strides into camp, a giant who towers over the three of you. She drops her polearm and it shakes the ground when it drops with a thunderous noise. Glancing back at the other knights, she raises her voice to a shrill falsetto. “‘Sahani, I’m tired. Sahani, I’m starving. Sahani, why are we rushing? We cleared out the nest!’”

“I don’t sound like that,” your knight grumbles.

“You sound just like that when you start whining, Vashir.” Without a word, she plucks Miwen off the ground, throwing her over the shoulder cushioned with a tattered, blue cloak.

“Sahani, you’re late,” Miwen chides her.

“Not you too,” her knight grumbles. Their chatter fades as Sahani stalks off to their tent. Nor is gone soon after, called away with no more than a sharp nod, but you see his knight pause briefly to take Nor’s wrist and press it to his helm in a chaste, reverential kiss.

Then it’s just the two of you standing in the middle of camp beside smoldering embers—you and your knight.

Vashir takes a step towards you and then halts, as though losing his nerve. He always maintains an uncomfortable distance between the two of you until it’s time to feed. His face is still obscured in shadow and you don’t know what he’s thinking or how he’s looking at you. You swallow hard, shifting your weight nervously from one foot to the other.

“Um—”

“I—”

You both start and stop again. The distance feels even greater. “Go ahead,” you say.

Vashir hesitates. He clenches his lance. Corrupted blood slicks the blade and most of the shaft, a prismatic shimmer of unnatural colors. A minute passes in tense, uncomfortable silence, and then another. Then he makes a frustrated sound, nearly a growl, and seizes your wrist, dragging you back to your shared tent.

The camp is too small for privacy. You can still hear Sahani’s boisterous voice as she describes the hunt Miwen, and sometimes you catch soft murmurs from Nor and his knight. Vashir removes his helm and you finally see his dark hair and a flash of reflective eyes, gold like wolf. He still hasn’t said a word when he starts shedding the heavier pieces of his armor, shoulder pauldrons and fauld coming off in heavy, clattering heaps.

Finally, he speaks the words you were expecting. “I’m…famished,” he says. The words come out with some hesitation, a low, gravelly mutter. You nod shakily and take a halting step forward. His hand engulfs your wrist but he stops short of dragging you to him. When he moves, he’s gentle, a leading tug rather than a harsh, painful pull.

You’re not sure what to make of this strange timidity. Vashir is always decisive, always acting with force and certainty. But right now, he’s touching you like you’re made of glass, gathering you in his lap. Even seated, with you on top of him, he’s much larger. Tenebral knights are exposed to small doses of miasma from an early age, their bodies cultivated to grow to staggering sizes. You always feel small and helpless in his grasp.

He removes his gauntlets. His palms are rough and wrapped in scars, his fingers callused. He’s careful with your cloak when he removes it, lifting the fabric over your head. You’re bare beneath except for your bandages and his bites. Vashir studies you in silence, his expression unreadable. Finally, he asks, “Do you resent me?”

You aren’t prepared for a question like that. You set your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself. “You’re…my knight,” you say, uncertain. “I swore an oath to serve you—”

“Your heart is not bound by any oath,” he says, his gaze burning into you. His tone softens, fingers grazing your cheek. “Do you resent me, page?”

“No. But…” You inhale sharply when he leans forward, urging you to bare your neck to him. The throat is a deeply intimate place to feed. The thighs, too, are for pleasure, but the throat holds different significance. More fondness than lust. “But I thought you resented me.”

“No,” Vashir says quietly. He kisses the side of your neck, chaste at first, then more deeply, hungrier. “That you could even think that…Great Cosmos, I’ve not been good to you.”

You’ve been here before, in the embrace of your knight. But something is different this time. You can feel his hunger, how he trembles, how greedily he palms your flesh and holds you against the grooves of his breastplate, but he takes his time. His nips are soft and playful, the scrape of his fangs igniting embers of want across your skin. This is what you tell stories about in shadowed corridors of the Scarlet Demesne, whispering to one another by candlelight—that someday a knight will touch you, will hold you, and you will feel the warmth the elders speak of when they talk about the Sun.

“I’m a disgrace to the Order,” Vashir murmurs against your skin. “I don’t deserve you. Even now, I know we should speak. There are things I want to tell you, things I should have already told you. But,” he shudders, his teeth scraping your neck, “I’m so hungry I can’t think straight.”

“Then feed from me,” you say. He shivers at nothing more than your offer, the eagerness in your voice. “We can still talk. I want to talk,” you insist, tangling your hand in his long, unkempt hair. “But you’ve been holding me at arm’s length for so long. I thought…I thought you didn’t want me.”

Your back hits the ground and the fall knocks the wind out of you. Vashir pins you easily and he looms, his chest heaving, like a beast eager to devour you. This is improper, according to the teachings you grew up with. A knight is to keep the page above him as he feeds, to secure his hold and control every movement so as not to waste blood. This is clumsy, impulsive and animal.

It’s what you wanted all along.

Vashir’s bite is heaven, pain and pleasure tangled together. He pins both of your wrists with one hand and the other holds down your shoulder, keeping you still through your writhing and whimpering. The feeding is wasteful. You feel some of your blood trickle down your back instead, slipping away before he can taste away, but neither of you care. You wrap your arms around him, fisting your hands in the softness of his cloak, and Vashir’s muffled, shuddering moans roll through you. He ruts against you mindlessly even with several layers between you. The sensation is uncomfortable and stiff with his armor, but you welcome it, grinding against one metal-clad thigh.

He stops before he’s had his fill, moving down your body to taste other parts of you. He trails his lips down your chest and nips playfully at your nipple. The next bite is shallow, fangs sinking into your hip. The bite he presses just beneath the still-healing marks on your thighs sends sparks of pleasure up your spine. You feel lightheaded, euphoric and giddy. Vashir is meticulous in worshiping every inch of your body, smoothing his hands along your calf as he kisses your ankle. You feel like one of the Demesne’s holy relics, revered and beloved.

When he stops, you feel tingling and soreness. The bites sting and ooze slightly. Vashir drags his tongue along your inner thigh to catch one last bead of blood and then lifts himself, collecting you in his arms. You’re limp and comfortable in his arms as he bundles you in your cloak, resting your head against his breastplate. For some time, you say nothing, catching your breath together. Nor’s tent is quiet, but you hear breathy moans from Miwen’s.

“How…” You bite your lip. You don’t want to overstep. This is the most you’ve ever heard Vashir speak at a time, but what if you say the wrong thing and he retreats again?

Your worries evaporate when you feel his hand, firm but gentle, stroking your back. “Go ahead,” he murmurs.

You swallow nervously. “How do you know what time it is out here?”

Vashir is quiet. His touch stops, and then, slowly, with newfound softness, resumes. “The Order teaches us a few time-keeping methods.”

“Could you teach me?”

He’s silent for a long time. You squirm around in his grip so you can actually see his face, staring up and finding a smile. The first one, you think, that he’s ever given you. It’s lopsided, cut through the edge with a small scar, and the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. “Yes,” he says, his voice full of warmth and tentative, cautious hope, “I can teach you.”

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original

41 notes · View notes